


(i'm obsessed) do you love me like that?

by tinymark (lumoon33)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is a Little Shit, Love Confessions, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Bad at Feelings, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, idolverse, inspired by haechan wearing shorts, thigh kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/tinymark
Summary: And now he’s here, losing his mind in a practice room, with his boy trying to turn him on while all Mark can think about is how badly he wants to hold his hand, and kiss his cheek, and wake up next to him every single day. Move in together in a couple of years, maybe, and share clothes and a bed and the shower. And keep count of the years they spend together to celebrate them, not as a victory for staying together, but as an opportunity to keep making memories.(or: haechan is wearing an oversized shirt and shorts and he makes mark Feel Things)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 66
Kudos: 1119





	(i'm obsessed) do you love me like that?

**Author's Note:**

> so. im trying to work on this long markhyuck au that will probably take me a while and,,,, nct went live today and haechan was wearing shorts and he kept messing w mark and mark kept staring at him and i Needed to write something to get my mind off my longer projects so this thing happened. i have no idea how it ended up being so cheesy but here we are.
> 
> english isnt my new language and i didnt proof read this it's 2 am and i have to work tomorrow rip so im sorry for any mistakes u can find!!  
> i hope you enjoy it!

Mark has never been good with feelings.

He always feels everything tenfold. He doesn’t know how to stay cold headed, how to store his emotions in different boxes in his head, each of them labeled with a different, distinct and clear name. He’s always been a disaster of a person: his used clothes piled up on his desk, his dirty socks tangled with his bed sheets, his feelings scattered all over his chest, bundled up together, intertwining confusingly.

Mark doesn’t have a filter, either. He can’t pause for a moment and take a breath before he opens his damn mouth. He blurts out whatever pops up in his head, that is why he doesn’t make any sense half of the time.

Stumbling over his words and tripping over his feelings is what he’s best at. Maybe that’s why he owns so many notebooks with wrinkled pages, all full of doodles and so many song lyrics he’d need at least three life times to put them all out. That’s what writing is about, in his opinion: just a bunch of messy feelings bleeding ink into rumpled pages.

He bleeds feelings everywhere. He’s painfully aware of it. So is Haechan. He’s always pulling at all the right strings, painting Mark’s skin red with the way he talks, the way he moves, the way he _looks_.

Mark is about to snap today, and not in the right way.

Haechan is wearing this oversized shirt, the one he was wearing the first time Mark ever kissed him. It’s dark blue with splashes of white here and there, and it’s so damn loose on him. Mark remembers it used to look different, it used to hang from Haechan’s shoulders perfectly, it used to mold around his neck. But now, now the collar is all stretched out. And Mark is the one to blame, with the amount of times he has pulled on it, eager and desperate to reach more of Haechan’s golden skin, to trace over the moles on his collarbones with his tongue.

He’s also wearing these pants; they aren’t that short, but Haechan keeps balling his hands at the end, rumpling the hems between his fingers and riding the cloth up his legs unconsciously.

And Mark. Mark is trapped and bubbling up with something he would call desire, but the word seems to fall short.

He feels entranced, his eyes keep falling to Haechan’s thighs, traveling all the way up to his neck, to the drops of sweat that make his honey skin shine. He can’t help himself, he keeps staring through the mirror while they practice, his mouth going dry every time Haechan pushes his damp, purple hair back.

Haechan is doing it on purpose, Mark is so embarrassingly aware of it. Embarrassed of the fact that Haechan knows exactly each and every button he has to push to get Mark’s undivided attention to himself. He sneaks glances at Mark too, purses his lips, raises his eyebrows knowingly, smirks with only one side of his mouth, so damn condescending and cocky.

But Haechan isn’t getting it right, because Mark is feeling everything wrong.

Desire is a feeling he’s so familiar with, so intertwined with the idea of Haechan he can’t think of him without feeling it. And that is not what he is feeling right now. Even though he wants, he _yearns_ , he needs Haechan under his thumbs, hovering over his lips, curling against his chest.

But there are too many words piling under his tongue, just like the clothes on his desk and the socks in his bed. And they are so far away from desire and a lot closer to four letters he doesn’t dare to even think about.

He knew he was too much of a messy person to agree to a friends-with-benefits kinda thing. But he wonders who is strong enough to deny anything to Haechan’s flushed cheeks. He certainly isn’t.

And now he’s here, losing his mind in a practice room, with his boy trying to turn him on while all Mark can think about is how badly he wants to hold his hand, and kiss his cheek, and wake up next to him every single day. Move in together in a couple of years, maybe, and share clothes and a bed and the shower. And keep count of the years they spend together to celebrate them, not as a victory for staying together, but as an opportunity to keep making memories.

Mark swears under his breath. Because who in the world doesn’t even have a good enough grasp of their own feelings to feel horny without making it so damn cheesy.

Their eyes meet through the mirror for what feels like the hundred time today, and Haechan is drinking this bubble tea, his lips wrapped around the straw, sucking on it as he stares at Mark with a raised eyebrow. He can’t take it anymore. He motions to the bathroom with a tilt of his head and leaves without waiting to see if Haechan is following or not.

When he gets to the bathroom, Mark presses his hands to the cold, flat surface of the sink, trying to cool himself down. He refuses to look at himself in the mirror, he can feel how flustered he is, his skin tingling all over.

He’s still looking down when the door opens. He turns around to find Haechan there, back against the wood, still sucking on his damn bubble tea.

“What do you want?” He talks around around the straw, his voice sounds so innocent, eyes round with a curious glint. It’s so obviously fake, it hits Mark in the chest. “We have to go live in like fifteen minutes.”

“This is all your fault,” Mark says, as he pushes himself off the sink and walks towards Haechan.

He tries so hard to fake confidence, but his knees are wobbly with a kind of need that feels too big to hold inside. His palms are sweaty, his chest swelling up with anxiety and embarrassment. He knows Haechan can look right through him, sees it in his raised eyebrow, in his crooked smile, in the way he chews on his straw as he looks at Mark up and down. Mark wonders how much he can see. Wonders if he’d be surprised if Mark ends up overflowing, spilling everything.

His hand reaches out as he stands in front of Haechan. He takes the plastic cup out from his fingers, takes the straw away from his mouth, and crouches down to set it on the floor. He doesn’t come back up.

Mark kneels on the hard tiles, the coldness of the floor seeps through the thin material of his sweatpants, but it does nothing to cool his body down. He’s burning up everywhere as he curls his sweaty fingers around both of Haechan’s knees, digs his fingers in the soft skin of the back as he dares to glance up.

Haechan is staring down at him with wide eyes and a half open mouth, and Mark can tell his reaction isn’t fake this time. The blush on his cheeks is so dark, Mark can see it from down there. He keeps looking up as he leans closer to press his lips against Haechan’s right knee. Haechan’s legs shake under his touch. Mark feels so powerful when they are this close, as if he has the whole damn world under his fingertips. And, in a way, he does.

He takes his eyes off of Haechan’s face to focus on the skin in front of him. Haechan’s legs are so pretty, incredibly long, smooth to the touch, bright in a honey color that screams to be bruised. So he does just that.

Mark slides his hands up slowly, secures his fingers in the back of Haechan’s thighs, where is so incredibly warm and tender. He kneads the flesh there as he leans down again to brush his lips over the left thigh, starts really close to the knee to go up slowly.

He peppers soft, closed mouthed kisses up Haechan’s leg, as far as he can go until his nose gets trapped in the fabric of his shorts. Then, he balls a hand in the material, the way Haechan has been doing unconsciously all day, and pulls up, up, up, revealing more golden skin, tiny moles scattered all over.

His nose presses to the soft flesh of Haechan’s inner thigh, already dangerously close to his groin. He sinks his teeth there without warning, and Haechan _wails_. It is such a pretty sound, high-pitched and breathy. Mark can feel a hand tangling in his hair as he sucks into the skin. Haechan tries to push his mouth even harder against his thigh, as if he can’t help himself.

When Mark pulls away, there’s already a purple mark blooming there. Haechan bruises so easily, so prettily. He wants to mark him all over. Wants to mark him forever.

He brushes his lips over the same spot again, sneaks his tongue out to trace the teeth marks there, and Haechan pulls at his hair so hard, Mark has to muffle a groan against his hot, damp skin.

“Fuck,” Haechan whispers from above, fingers moving carefully in Mark’s hair, stroking softly, as if he’s trying to apologize. “You have no idea how good you look down there.”

His voice sounds so broken already, he drags out the words the way he does when he’s fucked out, raspy and tender. Mark can’t help it, he has to look up, and Haechan is looking right back at him, with his lips shining red and his eyes twinkling gold.

Mark leans his head against the inside of Haechan’s thigh, presses his flushed cheek there as he keeps staring. He’s so beautiful, with his messy purple hair, the blush on his cheeks travelling all the way down his neck, hiding under his loose t-shirt, the same t-shirt he was wearing the first time they kissed.

And Mark can’t help it. He blurts out:

“Date me.”

Silence falls over them with such a force it almost knocks out the breath out of Mark’s lungs. And it stretches out for so long.

It’s just Haechan looking down at him, his fingers still in Mark’s hair, but his face all serious and unreadable. And Mark feels so uncomfortable. His knees are starting to hurt, his cheek feels gross and sticky pressed up against his own spit, the warmth in the pit in his chest is turning into something sharp, something that feels like anxiety.

Mark has never felt uncomfortable around Haechan before. It is almost heartbreaking.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Haechan says, shaking his head, as if he’s trying to wake himself up from a nightmare.

Mark pulls away, Haechan’s fingers slip out of his hair as he falls on the balls of his feet. He’s still kneeling down, still staring up at Haechan, who is so much bigger than Mark in every sense he can think of. He couldn’t feel further away from powerful right now.

“You can’t just-” Mark starts, stumbles, trips; because that’s all he’s good at. “You can’t look like that and expect me to-”

He has to look away, embarrassed. It is so overwhelming to him, trying to blurt out something that makes sense when he can’t even grasp his own feelings. He doesn’t even know how to say it, he just wants to press rewind.

But Haechan isn’t saying anything, and Mark thinks the silence is going to crush him.

“You can’t look like that, and sound like that, and talk like that and expect me to not-” Mark gestures with his hands, towards Haechan, his eyes fixed on his own lap, chin tucked against his chest. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know I’d end up falling for you.”

He _hates_ the way he sounds, defeated and scraped around the edges. But what can he do if that is exactly the way he feels. Stripped down and vulnerable.

The silence stretches out for a few more moments, and Mark is about to get up and hide in one of the bathroom stalls when he feels more than sees Haechan sliding down the door.

They end up sitting in front of each other, Haechan’s back still against the door, his legs stretched out, and Mark kneeling down between them. He keeps his eyes on his hands, his finger fiddling nervously, playing with the hem of his t-shirt to stop himself from reaching out, because his skin still screams for Haechan.

Haechan’s hand flies to Mark’s neck. He rubs the skin there a couple of times, gentle, before he pinches him, leaning down to press their foreheads together.

“Hey,” he whispers, and there’s humor laced between his words. Mark’s stomach uncurls a little. “I walked in here expecting a blowjob, you can’t blame me for being surprised.”

Mark looks up just for a second before he’s rolling his eyes and avoiding Haechan’s gaze one more time. He knows his cheeks are burning up, and he’s all cracked open and exposed in front of Haechan. He feels so embarrassed, but there is no room for fear inside of him. He’d trust this boy blindfolded, always has.

“So, where are you gonna take me on our first date?” Haechan keeps talking, still quietly, his nose brushing against Mark’s, his breath hitting Mark’s heated cheeks. “Gonna take me to a fancy dinner and tell me all about how you fell for me?” Mark makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Haechan keeps talking between giggles. “I wanna hear you rant about the way I look and the way I sound and the way I-”

“Shut up,” Mark pushes against Haechan’s forehead, a small smile sneaking its way to his lips. “You always gotta be such a smart mouth?”

“Oh, Mark Lee,” and Mark loves the way his name sounds in Haechan’s lips, all close and personal like this. “Don’t act as if you didn’t know where you were getting yourself into when you decided to fall in love with me.”

Mark’s mouth hangs open, and he actually pushes Haechan away this time.

“I never said those words!” He thinks he may be blushing all the way to the root of his hair, and Haechan just stares at him with this lopsided smile, small and knowing.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he says, both of his hands flying to Mark’s hair now, bringing him closer. “Don’t act as if you don’t know I feel the same way.”

And, the thing is, Mark doesn’t know. Because if he isn’t able to understand his own emotions, how is he supposed to read someone else's feelings? But he isn’t about to start arguing over it, not when Haechan’s lips are brushing over his, and he feels so damn full of light he thinks he’s about to burst into tiny twinkling stars.

They kiss open mouthed, deep and languid. It’s the best kind of kiss, one where Mark can feel and savour everything. He can taste bubble tea in Haechan’s mouth. He places his hands on Haechan’s neck and he can feel his pulse skyrocketing as he sucks on his tongue. He moves his hand to Haechan’s cheek and he can feel how warm it is, heated up all because of Mark. He bites down on Haechan’s lower lip and he can feel how his breath catches in his throat, fingertips scratching Mark’s scalp with need.

Haechan feels like spring pressed up against him, blooming and wonderful.

“Donghyuck,” he whispers in the heat between them, and he has no idea why the name falls off his lips, but it makes Haechan shiver.

“You haven’t called me that in so fucking long,” he replies, pulling away, hiding in the crook of Mark’s neck.

Mark would laugh at the irony that his own name is all it takes to make Haechan shy, but he can’t, because he _gets it_. It feels way too real, it’s intimate and tender and brings memories of a life together, when they were the only trainees living together at the dorms. Mark’s mind is filled up with memories of Donghyuck preparing breakfast for him in the morning, Donghyuck running a bath for Mark, Donghyuck curling into his side during movie nights, Donghyuck slipping into his bed nine nights out of ten. It is so familiar and real and exactly what Mark wants. Forever.

So he says it again, presses the name quietly behind Donghyuck’s ear, and everything blooms inside of him when Donghyuck giggles against him. He says it again and again and again, against his neck, between his collarbones, into his mouth. Repeats it over and over until Doyoung has to come threaten them to get the fuck out of the bathroom.

Mark has never been good with feelings. But who cares, if Donghyuck gets him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> it would mean the world to me if you left a comment and/or kudos!!! thank you for reading <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/tiniemarks) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/tiniesung)


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